Eviscerate
by xShocked
Summary: v. 2. To remove a vital part. After a fatal, preventable accident, Violet is stripped of the one thing that makes her unique. This callous evisceration, however, opens more horrifying doors for both the girl and Metroville than it does close. UPDATED.
1. Haven't seen the Sun in Weeks

**IMPORTANT A/N (23/4/08) – Hey guys and welcome to Eviscerate. Some of you may already be familiar with the fic, for others it might be a completely new experience. I started this fic in mid 2005, when I was 16 (as far as my poor maths will tell me) I am now nearly 21 and I realise that, although I definitely intend on finishing this fic, I think it needs a little bit of a reupholster to make it blend from the writing I did then to that I do now. Plus, it'll help in making it easier to read as I've fixed my paragraph break setting (Thanks Lo!) and definitely a little more sensible. So if you've read this fic before, I encourage you to read again, if not to refresh your mind then just to make it flow a little better. Also, some very slight changes have been made to some important background information. Again, thank you so much for your custom and enthusiasm in my crappy writing. –xShocked. **

**PS- You'll see a note like this one each chapter as I reupholster them. Keep checking back!**

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A/N**- I know, I know, there are a million Violet-related stories, why not do something different? It's because Violet, despite not having a central role in the movie, is a very complex character. I like messing around with her. It is important that you know my stories focus on either or all of the categories of angst, psychological torture, or putting characters into uncomfortable, depressing and/or torturous situations. If you don't enjoy reading that sort of thing, turn back now. For those of you that decide to read on I thank you for giving me a chance, and hope you enjoy. This will stay PG-13 and will not become R until I figure exactly what is best to add to this story and what is best left to my imagination. First chapters are always boring; trying to explain exactly what's going on. Don't judge it for the rest of the story.

**DISCLAIMER**- I do not make any profit from writing this piece and all characters mentioned within it, especially that of Violet Parr, belong solely to Brad Bird and the Disney Pixar company. I can only thank them all for making characters that stimulate my brain enough to come up with this drivel.

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**EVISCERATE**

Chapter One- Haven't seen the Sun in Weeks.

_"This is your Captain speaking," the Captain's voice, now devoid of every comic tone he had been using during the long flight, could barely be registered over the pandemonium within the cabin. "We're experiencing some engine difficulties but we urge you all to remain calm, fasten all seatbelts that aren't already fastened and remain seated at all times."  
The girl beside Violet snorted, giggling shrilly in a paranoid, hysterical pitch. She was most definitely losing her mind in this deplorable situation; Violet supposed that she was not one for confrontations as horrifying as this._

_"He may as well just openly say 'hey everyone, prepare for your impending death', god knows it might make the situation a lot better," the girl snorted between short bursts of her inane laughing. Violet opted to disregard the comment, fearing more than anything the horrid truths in the sardonically spoken words. Instead, she focused her attention as far from the frantic girl and her bitter words as she could, which left her little choice but to turn to the small airplane porthole on her left hand side._

_She recoiled at a smear of sticky red that lined the top rim of the porthole setting, where the plastic jutted sharply out from the wall. Gingerly brushing the top of her forehead with her fingertips, she registered a damp matting of warm wetness in the tangle of her loose hair. Coming to a surreal understanding, she realised that the blood itself must have belonged to her. She hadn't even known she'd hit her head hard enough to draw blood, let alone that it had cut so deeply into the skin. _

_Grasping tightly to the top of the setting as to not allow the exact accident to repeat, she peered beyond the thick plated plexiglass. There was nothing of importance to see; acres of fluffy white that inappropriately made her hungry for marshmallows, and a small yet significant plume of ugly dark smoke trailing from the wing of the plane. A lump formed deep in the chasms of her throat._

_A sudden explosion from the wing brought a retaliatory scream of fear from the cabin, and Violet herself let out a muted shriek. She threw her body back in instinctual self-defence, releasing her tight grip on the setting in fear. The tight strain of the seatbelt cut deeply into her hips but her body, racing with adrenaline, was numb to the pain. The black smoke thickened and covered the porthole as the plane jerked heavily to the right, causing her to knock heads hard with the hyperventilating girl beside her. The girl held tightly to her temple, crying in pain through her terrified giggles. _

_The plane then took a dive to the left, becoming almost vertical, bringing Violet's head careening into the porthole window for a second time. The familiar flurry of brightly-lit stars dazzled savagely across her vision. Indignantly struggling to stay conscious from the battering, her eyes gave away the sudden horrifying awareness, as she squinted from her window, that part of the wing had been blasted away._

_After a blissful nanosecond of pure, awed silence, the nose of the plane took a deep dive, spiralling dangerously to the left. The silence gave way to heavy screams and she brought her hands defensively to her ears, allowing terrified tears to run across her bloodied cheeks. She could not be completely sure due to the nightmarish quality that surrounded the event, but she was sure she had been screaming too as escaping death suddenly became a futile task in her mind..._

* * *

"Vi?" Helen Parr leaned apprehensively across her daughter's bed, peeling back the comforter that failed to envelope her toes yet immersed her head completely beneath it.  
"Violet," she repeated, "Wake up sweetheart." The girl was twitching at irregular intervals but not moving openly; a troubled frown furrowed deeply into her brow.

Helen touched the girl's slender shoulder, shaking it meekly, unwilling to wake her too suddenly. Her mother had always been superstitious and had believed waking a person dreaming was bad luck; it was only natural that some of these beliefs had rubbed off on Helen herself. When no good came of the gentle movement her hand shifted upward, brushing across the girl's twitching cheek, pushing away the strands of dark hair that clung to her sweated face.

As the thick tresses were relocated, an ugly purple bruise hidden beneath came to view. It lined the base of her daughter's right eye socket, progressing outward across her cheekbone and over her closed eyelid. Pulling the peak of her hair upward, Helen inspected a long, deep slice hidden beneath it, at the place where her hair and forehead almost meshed. She counted the fifteen black stitches that held it tightly in place.  
When she had first taken in the messy, blood-clotted wound, hugging to her daughter unconditionally as she planted grateful kisses over her cheeks, it had reminded her of one of the _Extreme Makeovers_ victims from the television, having had a brow lift and an eye job and waiting patiently for the mutilation to make them beautiful. She hadn't known exactly why she had thought something so amusing while clinging to the daughter that should well have lost, but she had.

A sudden shifting from the bed caused Helen to reel in alarm, releasing her grip on the thick knot of hair and taking a heaving stride away. Violet had hurdled upright, a hand pressing furiously to her chest and the other to the back of her head, squeezing tightly at the strands that dared catch beneath her grip. She drew gasp after panting gasp deep into her lungs.

"I tried!" she'd squealed in exasperation as she had thrown herself forward. Sparse, desperate gasps escaped her and the words seemed caught in her throat to Helen, who struggled to take in the miniscule whispers escaping her daughter's lips.  
"You've got to... got to believe that I... I..." As the clarity and volume of her words improved it seemed as though they made less and less sense to her. She struggled to maintain their purpose for a grappling second before finally abandoning them, her hand sliding from her chest and resting apprehensively on her lower thigh. Her remaining hand, though, did not budge from its grip at the back of her head, and Helen heard a muted sob escaping the teenager's mouth.

She considered her intrusion at this time and guiltily shifted her weight; a slight creak from the floorboards announcing her location. Violet, overhearing the noise between her small, stifled sobs, looked up with a startled alarm; her tensed muscles only slackening as she took in her mother's face and nothing more. She swiped furiously at the tears that clung to her cheeks, ridding herself of the evidence perhaps before her mother could register it.

Helen had long registered it, though, and to see her daughter suffering so greatly simply broke her heart. She had been improving so well; painstakingly but positively tackling her abysmal self-esteem and self-worth over the passing time. Yet after the accident the process had simply reversed, faster and smoother than it had ever progressed. She had nightmares now, persistent, plaguing nightmares that came to her even during waking hours. She had not touched her newly-coloured wardrobe since she had returned home, opting instead to raid the back of her closet for the stack of greys, blues and blacks she had once solely worn. And the pretty coloured ribbons, hairpins and alice-bands that she had collected in a decorated box beneath the bed all lay unused; she'd once again permitted her hair to fall freely as it wished, allowing her a curtain of protection from the world when she so required it.

"Mom I-" Violet reluctantly removed the hand from the back of her head, it joining it's other half at her thigh as she struggled to control her still sleep-laden voice.  
"I didn't... know you were in here." Helen shot the girl a compassionate smile, realising her own hand was curled to a tightly balled fist. She released it; a few strands of dark hair that had caught to her wedding band floated to the carpeted floor.

"I should have knocked, sweetie, I'm sorry," she spoke carefully, "but it's getting late, and you have to get ready." She pondered whether she should have enquired about the nightmare, but opted strongly against it, recalling what had happened on previous mornings she had been courageous enough to ask.

There was an awkward, tapered silence that progressed painfully into the following seconds and Helen, flustered slightly, busied herself with picking the odd articles of dirty clothing from the teenager's floor. Violet turned away, abashed.

"Honestly, Vi, what have I said about leaving your worn clothes on the floor. Would it kill you to put them in the hamper? Even Dash does it," She changed the subject in hopes of a reply, waving a dirty sock before her face as she let out a dramatic sigh. The girl did not respond, and only brought her knees up about her chest and hugged them tightly. Helen inwardly cursed her cowardice at skipping around the issues, collecting the remains of the pile in silence before heading to the door.

"I'm sorry to nag you, I just don't know what to say to make you feel any better," she pondered on the truth, parting the door to the hall a little further with her slippered foot.  
"I want to say something so badly, but I don't know what you want to hear." Her mouth widened, as though it expected her to elaborate, but she was unable to find suitable words to fill them. She faltered as she left, though, turning back to face the room. Violet had not switched positions.  
"You do remember that today is-"

"Yes, Mom, I remember. I'll be down soon." Her voice muttered from behind the curtain of her hair. It was utterly monotonous. It brought a pain to Helen's heart to hear her daughter speak so lifelessly.

"Alright sweetheart," she murmured maternally into the pile of clothing. "I cleaned your uniform. Would you like me to bring it to you?" Violet's Super uniform was in the laundry, freshly washed and hanging crisply in the small locked space she had created from the closet beneath the sink. It was used solely to store their Super Suits when they were not being used. A Super's most precious possession, after all, was their identity, and Violet's identity was no different.

"Its fine, I'll get it myself." Her dulled voice muttered out from between her knees. Helen nodded, though beneath her skin fought the intense urge to let loose a sob of frustration, closing the door to her daughter's room and backing away.

* * *

Bob looked up half-heartedly from the _Metroville Press_ as his wife entered the kitchen with an armload of clothing, shooting him a sour look as she passed. Jack-Jack, in the highchair beside Bob with an empty plate before him, let out a squeal of glee at the sight of his mother. Taking a further gulp from the coffee mug he held tightly in his hand, Bob folded the paper neatly in half with the other. She disappeared into the adjoining laundry room and he heard the hamper being emptied viciously onto the floor.

"How is she today?" he called, loud enough for Helen to hear, but not nearly loud enough for the question to travel any further than the room. Her head poked out from around the sliding door, a deep frown plastered across her face.

"The same. Were you expecting any improvement?" she shot sarcastically, her frown growing deeper. "She'll be down to get her suit soon, is there anything in the paper about it today?" Bob's pained expression allowed her all she needed to know before he spoke a word. He flipped it open to face his wife. Jack-Jack, gurgling softly, grabbed for it with his tiny fingers, but his father pulled it from his reach.

"Front page, plus a double-page spread." He flicked the paper with his thumb and forefinger, his brows knit into a tight frown.  
"Photographs too, big ones. Of her and of the plane." Helen sighed weakly as she took in a picture of Miss Incredible, of her only daughter, grinning her lopsided grin opposite a slightly pixelated photograph of the twisted remains of a plane wreck floating stoically in the ocean. "What can we expect though, Helen, the media's all over this trial."

"Put that thing down, I don't want to see that godforsaken wreck anymore. It reminds me we could have lost her, Bob, she could have been killed." She exited the laundry, tightening her dressing gown about her waist in the process. Gripping tightly to the ledge of the bench as if for comfort, she slid across from Bob's seated position. Leaning her lower back against the sink, she folded her arms defiantly across her chest, though Bob could clearly take in the helplessness screaming from her eyes.

"You'd think they had better things to write about than pick on her like this!" she muttered furiously. "She's just a girl, a girl that's been put through hell. Can't they show any compassion at all?"

"It wouldn't matter if she was seventeen or one hundred and seventeen, Helen. She's a Super in the eyes of the public. You know what they're like with Supers at the moment." Bob propped a large arm against the back of his chair, shifting his weight to face his wife. Helen, who had grown weary of Jack-Jack's persistent gurgling, had scooped him into her arms. He pulled incessantly at her earlobes as she listened.  
"Even though we can use our powers without hiding anymore, you know how afraid everyone is of doing something wrong. They were waiting for us to mess up, just once. They wanted us to do something wrong, because it was something to write about. And Violet was the first to blunder."

Sighing dismissively she twisted to the sink behind her, releasing a surging jet of lukewarm water and proceeding to dampen a washcloth.  
"Well regardless, you'd better get rid of the rag before she comes down. I don't want her reading that kind of filth, especially when it's about her. Especially today."

"It's okay, you don't need to hide it, I already know what they're writing." Violet entered the room to the utter bewilderment of her parents. Jack-Jack let out an enlightened squeal from behind the washcloth, calling "By-et, By-et," his pronunciation of her name in his infantine voice. She ignored him, not even allowing him the closure of a glance for his callings. She shuffled across the linoleum floor, shooting her parents a look of unenthused despondency before disappearing from view behind the laundry door. A small scratching and a click announced she was retrieving her suit from the closet beneath the sink.

"It's probably something along the lines of 'Miss Incredible should be punished for her blatant disregard of numerous rules in the newly-written Supers Code of Conduct'," her voice could have been registered as an almost good-humoured drawl, had it not been the awfully flat tone it was administered with.  
"Or maybe it's more like 'these strict new conduct guidelines were created so that Supers like Miss Incredible could resume their work openly and not attract a recurrence of the suing disasters that spelled the downfall of her Super predecessors'..."

Violet returned to view as she wandered back into the kitchen, the cheery hues of her freshly-washed uniform pressed tightly against the faded gray of her oversized pyjamas; a stark contrast.  
"It's all quite funny, kind of, in a really screwed up sort of way." Her vague grin grew sour and melted from her face as swiftly as it had appeared.

"Death is never funny, Violet," her father intervened. He slowly pulled the folded newspaper toward him with his thumb and forefinger. His daughter's picture smiled warmly face-up on the front page. Violet shrugged her miniscule frame, turning away from her sombre parents' view. Her head dipped, raven hair collecting about her downturned face.

"I really don't think it's funny at all, dad. I tried to help them. I did everything I could, but I just wasn't s-strong enough," her voice grew distraught and wavering, and as she turned once again to face them, her parents took in the fat swell of a tear developing in the visible, bruised eye.  
"I just don't know... don't understand... how th-the forcefield-"

"It's alright Vi, we trust your judgement. If it was your forcefield that failed, we believe that. You don't need to keep torturing yourself like this." Helen stumbled compassionately toward her daughter, raising her available arm to embrace her deeply. Violet, however, seemed repulsed by the display of kindness and shrugged her mother and Jack-Jack away.

"Please don't hug me!" she moaned, taking a stumbling pace away from her mother. "Murderers don't get to-"

"Violet!" Helen's exasperated voice cried at full volume as she, in turn, took a frustrated step toward her daughter. "You're not a murderer. You didn't kill anyone! It wasn't your fault! Stop saying _awful things like that_!"

Helen was well known for the shortness of her fuse in the family and, out of her sheer infuriation at her helplessness, she grasped and held tightly to the first part of Violet that she could catch in her free hand; Violet's right wrist became the target of her anger.  
"It was an accident, Vi, snap out of it! Stop doing this to yourself!!"

It was Jack-Jack's squealing cries from her arm and Bob's sturdy hand pulling her forcefully from the girl that made her realise exactly how hard she had been clamped to her daughter's wrist, and that she had been shaking it forcefully.

She took a step back, releasing the wrist. Violet pulled it immediately to her chest, clamping her uniform tightly beneath it. The room quietened to tense silence, although Jack-Jack continued to cry in large, wailing sobs. Violet did not cry, but merely subjected her mother to a wide-eyed, spacious stare as the moments agonizingly passed.

"What I can do is nothing but trouble. Maybe if they make me normal the world will be a lot better off," Violet mumbled into the thick air, lowering her eye line miserably before turning on her heels and trudging to her room, leaving her distraught mother, unbelieving father and bawling brother as far behind her as she possibly could.

* * *

"I know this is scary, but it's something that you have to do." Violet, from the passenger's seat of the neat little car, turned apathetically to the man driving. He was wearing a clean-cut and pristine suit, his thinning head of hair slicked back and clinging tightly to his skull. The newly-formed Superhero Safety Foundation had appointed him as her representative during the painstaking ordeals of court appearances and public speaking. He was to act as her attorney at her final court hearing. She thought his name might have been Greg, but she hadn't really taken any notice during the ordeal.  
"I'm sorry that your parents couldn't be here, but just to see other Super's could incite more publicity than we need right now. Your people need to keep a low profile." She hated it when he said _'your people_,' implying that she was different, inferior, to him.

"I understand," Violet murmured tonelessly, twining a strand of hair about her gloved finger as she stared from the front passenger window. Her parents would indeed be at the court appearance, they merely wouldn't be Mr and Mrs Incredible. It was an open courtroom after all. No, that was the least of her infinite worries. Greg sighed awkwardly after a minutes silence, adjusting the high collar of his starched white shirt.

"Miss Incredible," he said, "you do know and understand the full extent of the punishment being pushed by the prosecutor. You do realise what they're asking of you to the court?" Violet lowered her head, clearing her throat. She had seen a news report about it once when her parents had been sleeping; she knew exactly what the punishment was to be for her if she was found guilty. It terrified her to no end.

"Yes. I know what it is," was her tiny reply. The man beside her nodded in one fluid motion, not wishing to elaborate on the issue until it was absolutely vital.

"I must admit you're the calmest Super I've had to deal with in a long time," he laughed inappropriately, spinning the wheel of the expensive car beneath his firm grip. She peered across the dashboard as they sharply turned the city corner; the Courthouse stood proudly a mere block or so before them. Thick masses of people were seated and standing on the large marble-setted steps; some had signs, some had cameras and microphones, but most had nothing. Those that were seated stood as they witnessed the car lurching ever closer to the building, those that had signs holding them proudly above their heads.

"Now I know we've talked about this before, Miss Incredible, but just do your best in there. Tell the truth and don't bow under the pressure the prosecutor is going to subject you to, because you don't deserve that kind of shit. Excuse the language." The car pulled to an awkward stop outside the steps and the people angrily moved ever closer to the windshield.  
"They'll try and twist your words, make you even doubt yourself. Just don't lose your dignity. No matter what happens in there you know truly what happened that day, and you can only do your best to convey that to the jury," Greg spoke thoughtfully before he unbuckled his seatbelt, taking hold of his briefcase that now lay sprawled around Violet's ankles and hesitantly parted the car door in his firm grip. Violet, though dreading the day and despising the man with every fibre of her being, took a solace of sorts away from these words.

"Wait here," he muttered, clutching tightly to the briefcase handle and striding in large, confident steps from the vehicle. Peering inconspicuously through the rear view mirror, Violet observed as he was immediately bombarded by news crews and angry people flapping posters as he made his way painstakingly around the boot of the car and to her passenger door. He opened it and she looked up hopelessly to his stony face, caught in a mere second of terrified weakness. He seemed to soften slightly and placed a hand on her shoulder as if for comfort. Her long hair caught under his grip and she grimaced in pain. He removed his hand, coughing awkwardly.

"Just stay close to me, don't answer any of their questions and walk as fast as you can," Greg murmured, shooting her a weak grin. She nodded, breathing deeply through her nose and blinking away the tears that had settled viciously at the corners of her eyes. She had never imagined that this is where her powers would land her; she'd never thought that she could be so hated for them. But she would need to be strong about the ordeal, just for today. There had been and would be plenty of time in the future to cry, but now was her time to be Miss Incredible. To be confident of her ability, but most of all to be proud of herself.

With these thoughts freshly impregnated into her brain she swung her legs from the car, standing and allowing Greg to drape one large arm across her shoulders as they began to push through the thick knot of human bodies. Though she endeavoured not to look up at the crowd as they progressed through it, she could not help taking in the noise; the hissing, the jeering, and the incessant questioning of the media. Through the ruckus she was hit in the face many a time with a microphone, consistently lost her footing on the slippery and human-infested marble steps and could hear Greg persistently stating "_Miss Incredible has no comment at this time_."

Greg guided her lightly by the shoulders up the remaining steps as it seemed she had lost direction of her footing; stumbling clumsily on the jutting marble peaks as she attempted to ignore the commotion taking place about her. The last stinging voice she heard before being forced through the heavily guarded doors was that of a television reporter calmly standing at the very top of the marble stairway, stating into a video monitor _"-the sight here today at the Metroville vs. Miss Incredible hearing is astounding. It seems as though citizens of all backgrounds, ages and opinions have banded through one common denominator today; to bring this young Super to her Justice over the horrifying Flight IZ4296 tragedy, claiming the lives of over one hundred passengers and crew aboard the flight when it took a crash landing into the sea off the Californian coast-_"

Greg nudged her through the doors before himself and into the Metroville Courthouse. She lifted her head, shifting the dark curtain from her eyes slightly. It smelled of leather and air deodorizer, she thought, as the hermetically sealed doors snapped shut behind them, sealing out the unwarranted human noise from outside. Greg slid his arm from about her shoulders and, taking in a balding Clerk ushering them hurriedly from a hall to the left, hastily subjected the girl to a shove in the small of her back.

"You're late, the trial started ten minutes ago," the Clerk tutted, scooting them along the thin corridor he had been standing diligently before. Violet took in the numerous pictures of Judge's lined like straight-edged dominoes along the wall. Her breath caught in her throat as a brick of emotion settled itself tightly in the pit of her stomach. She finally knew what fear tasted like as she shuffled along the dimly-lit corridor, reluctantly tailing her representative, whom of which was shuffling through crumpled papers in his briefcase, a fat bead of sweat trailing along his temple.

"We could hardly get near the place as it was, have you looked outside in the last few hours? Those people are relentless," Greg's voice was partially muffled by the lid of his briefcase and the Clerk did not take in the slight hint of derision in his voice that Violet clearly did. The Clerk took a sharp right and they followed; a lushly decorated door now stood solemnly before them.

"The media will be the media, I suppose. You should be used to it by now," the Clerk retorted unamused as he approached the door. Violet felt the panic rise unwontedly like mercury in her throat as the door came ever closer to their pounding footsteps. She supposed this may have been what it felt like on Death Row.  
"The jury will be the jury, too, and god knows they hate the job already without being held up like this."

With that the Clerk yanked the heavy wooden doors apart in his grip and ushered the duo hurriedly inside.

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**A/N**- Okay, I think I'm the only one I know who can write a eight-page opening chapter that doesn't convey ANYTHING AT ALL. Please note that the reeling feeling of 'what the hell is happening here?' that you get from this chapter will be resolved in the next chapter as more details of the flight accident are revealed. Please take the time to R/R this piece of crap.


	2. Funny how I'm nervous still

**IMPORTANT A/N (8/5/08)****- Yes, a second chapter has also been reupholstered. Please note there are some slight changes in this chapter that may impact the story greatly later on. If you've already read it, I urge to you read it again, I wouldn't want you to miss anything.**

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**A/N**- I thought I'd squeeze out one last chapter while I'm still on Summer holidays; once I'm back at school I have hardly enough time to work on my own things, let alone the fanfics that get a backseat to everything and new chapters are generally few and far between. **Please note that I don't know a whole bunch about the American Legal system, being Australian and all, and basically all I have learnt for this chapter came from either my Politics teacher's ranting or Law and Order**. In other words**, I apologise for any inaccuracies to all you lawyers reading out there, because I'm sure there's a heap of you and all.** Enjoy.

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**EVISCERATE**

Chapter Two- Funny how I'm Nervous Still...

* * *

Violet felt the abrupt and uncomfortable sensation of utter bareness as she was hastily pushed into the courtroom by Greg's less than gentle nudging. The room was full to the brim with people, yet there were not one pair of eyes she could register in the sea of life that did not shoot her a caustic glare. The Judge, seated atop her oversized stand at the very end of the inexhaustible runway, raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"When the court order says a 3.15pm start, it means a 3.15pm start, Miss Incredible," she cut through the uncomfortable silence of the room like a knife.  
"Please resume your position so we can begin."

Violet felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment, swallowing down the rising panic that had percolated from somewhere deep in her gut. Greg made himself known to the girl and placed a firm hand between her shoulder blades, ushering her forward with small shove almost imperceptible to anyone but her. She allowed herself miniscule and hesitant steps, taking in the intense stares that followed her down the bare and silent aisle way. At the very end of the pew-like structuring sat two clean and shiny wooden desks. The desk to the right was taken; a blonde woman in a crisp business suit inhabited the paper-ridden covering, and Greg pushed her lightly to the vacant desk on the left. He motioned for her to slide into the seating first, and she grudgingly obliged. The Judge nodded in approval, raising her gavel.

"We will now begin the indictment against the defendant, Miss Incredible, brought forward by the city of Metroville in the accusations of breaking in the first degree Rules 1, 2, 5 and 6 of the Metroville Super's Code of Conduct," the Judge parroted monotonously, bringing down her gavel in a sharp and resounding crash against the wood of her desk. Violet eyed the stenographer in the corner raising her fingers poignantly against her typing machine, waiting patiently for words to be spoken.

"Prosecutor?"

The woman sitting on the right hand desk rose, brushing lightly at her starchy skirt and crossing her arms confidently across her chest. Her heels clicked loudly against the marbled floor.  
"I'd like to bring forward Miss Incredible to the stand?" The woman eyed Violet with a bemused stare, turning her breezy gaze to the Judge. The Judge, an older woman with stony eyes, nodded solemnly and turned to Violet.

"Miss Incredible, could you please take the stand?" The statement was not a question and Violet found herself nodding autonomously and standing on jelly-like legs. Taking a moment to collect her frantic thoughts in some form of order, she finally abandoned the safety of the desk and crossed the courtroom. She seated herself uncomfortably to the left of the judge, her lip quivering as she took in, once again, the mass of dark stares that greeted her.

The bailiff swore her in and the Judge nodded knowingly to the woman in the starchy skirt. The middle-aged platinum blonde took a few sparse steps forward and smiled belittlingly, her arms never ceasing their crossed position about her chest.

"I knew it wouldn't be long before I saw another Super in that seat," she laughed condescendingly through lacquered lips, leaning her weight on one high-heeled foot. Although terrified, Violet remained defiant to the provoking.

"I'm sorry you have so little faith in Supers," she retorted, thankful that her voice rung resoundingly more confident than she actually felt. The woman, only slightly taken aback by the girl's words, let out a small, inane giggle, sighed, and then retained a stony facade. She strode to her desk, flicking through the fanned-out papers before she located a single slice, lifting it to the Judge's view.

"May I approach the defendant, Your Honour?" The Judge nodded mechanically to the question, and the woman strode toward the girl. She dropped the piece of paper before Violet; it slid across the bench until it came to rest neatly against her mid-section. She looked incredulously to the paper, then to the woman, as if searching in vain for any sea of emotion in the toughened face. She was unable to find a drop.

"Miss Incredible, did you read the new Supers Code of Conduct when it was released?"

"Of course, all Supers had to read it and sign it before they could work again," was her wan reply. The woman then pointed to the paper with a manicured nail, prompting Violet to pick it up. She did.

"Well, just for all the Non-Supers out there that may not have had the privilege, would you mind reading out loud the rules you're claimed to have broken; 1, 2, 5 and 6, please?" Violet looked down to the paper in her quavering hands; it contained the full and unabridged eight rules of the New Supers Code of Conduct. She began to read, swallowing through the heavy lump collected in her throat.

"Rule One: A Super will not use their powers selfishly when other human lives are also at risk." Although she did her utmost to maintain a smooth composure, a slight faltering in her voice openly articulated her nervousness.

"Rule Two: A S-Super will do everything in their constraints of power to prevent Non-Super death or injury before their.. Their own." Her voice crackled dangerously and her gaze rose from the paper pleadingly, willing that the woman would prompt her to disband the task. The woman, however, did not, and motioned dismissively for her to continue with a flick of her manicured hands.

"Rule Five: A Super will not use their p-powers as a physical and/or mental advantage over Non-Supers in everyday and unusual contexts." Violet could now feel the hot sting of tears clawing at her eye sockets as she reached the last in the list, although did not dare allow the court the satisfaction of watching her cry.

"Rule Six: A Super may use their powers to prevent injury or death to themselves, unless this s-situation conflicts with the first, second, or fourth rule." She sniffed loudly, thrusting the paper face-down to the desk and lifting her tear-blurred gaze. The crowd was silent, yet bore a look of unanimous accusation.

"Miss Incredible," the woman began almost compassionately, taking a small stride toward her as she adjusted a curl of her blonde hair, "do you see the logic in these rules? Do you understand why they are in place?" Violet nodded, unspeaking, to the question. She did see the logic in them, she always had. The woman displayed a thoughtful look of complacency.

"Why then, if you understand and support these rules, did you break them so blatantly on that plane trip?"

"I didn't break the rules. I tried everything I had to help them, but my powers... failed. They failed, but I tried," Violet murmured between small, hiccoughing breaths as she endeavoured to steady the flow of emotion willing to burst from her. She turned to the Jury, a set of average-looking Metroville citizens seated to her left; they did not look swayed.

"For the record, would you be able to tell those who may not know what your special abilities are?" The woman used a sharp and sardonic gesticulation when wording 'special abilities', then resumed crossing her arms tightly before her chest. At that moment, Violet spotted her parents, sinking deeply into their seats in the middle rows. They were dressed not as Mr and Mrs Incredible, to match their daughter's attire, but as Bob and Helen Parr; as average Metroville citizens simply curious about the events in question. She envied them at that moment; in the weeks that had passed since the accident it seemed she had less and less time to be Violet Parr as she was forced in and out of Miss Incredible's important and now very public role. She didn't want to be Miss Incredible anymore. She just wanted to be Violet.

"Invisibility, and materialising forcefields," she spoke, clearing her throat uncomfortably as the remainder of her breath materialised as a miserable sigh. It was stifling hot in the room, at least to her own boiling skin, and the sheer anguish of the situation only added to the sticky discomfort. The woman before her let a small 'hmm' pass between her thin lips.

"Well, it's a fact that you used your forcefield ability to cover yourself when the accident occurred. Then you kept yourself afloat with it and safe from danger until help arrived at the scene. How is it that your forcefield failed, yet it just so happened to cover you fully and keep you safe from the crash, and for an hour or so after that?" The woman leaned casually on the side of the desk, shooting the wide-eyed girl an accusatory glare. Violet faltered, tripping on her words, feeling the needle-like sting of tears shooting to the corners of her eyes once more.

"I... I didn't do it on purpose... I don't know why it happened like that, the way it did. I kept trying to push these forcefields out of me but they were weak and kept failing. I was very.. Very afraid and.. I don't know why that last one... why it only covered me. I didn't intend for it to." Her voice cracked miserably and as she lowered her head as a fat tear she could not retract splashed across her cheek.

"So let me get this straight, because according to you this is what happened," The woman shot sardonically, waving a buffered hand about her form.  
"Your plane is about to crash and you sense your impending doom, along with the other hundred odd people taking the same flight. Just before it hits the water, after your forcefields have failed numerous times, you just happen to produce a good solid one that covers only yourself and not a soul more, and stays with you for hours after that as you float in the ocean in the middle of plane debris and dead souls?" Violet's jaw parted to respond, yet nothing protruded from it.  
"Oh, and the four of the eight rules of the Super's Code of Conduct that were broken in the process just happened to be a horrible, awful coincidence?"

"I... I didn't break them on purpose. I didn't... mean it... and the forcefields after... I did them between being awake and... Being... thinking I was dead. It wasn't there all the time...neither was I..." The words pushed from her mouth forcefully, as if it were becoming increasingly difficult to locate and express the correct combinations needed to fully explain herself and the mentally shattering day in question. Overcome with her grief and guilt she let out a soundless sob, unable to shut it within her for a second longer. _She wanted the day to go away... she wanted this whole experience to leave her..._

"Miss Incredible, is it true that you suffered much of your teenage life with clinical depression?" the woman shot so suddenly and without remorse that Violet choked miserably on her sobs. Nobody knew about that; nobody but her parents and the Super Institute's psychiatrist. How could the woman possibly know? She did not understand it. Greg stumbled upward in his chair almost immediately.

"Objection!" He cried, "Miss Incredible's personal life bares no relevance to this case at all," he spat venomously. The woman turned to the Judge, her large eyes widely parted to bare what most certainly must have been contact-enhanced green eyes. Although Violet did not take in all that was said through her hiccoughing breaths, she thought that woman said something about the relevance soon becoming clear.

"I'll allow it for now. But move it along prosecutor." The Judge muttered, unbemused, from her seat above the courtroom. The woman nodded gratuitously, turning viciously to the slightly-framed girl before her.

"Is it true, Miss Incredible? That you suffered depression?" Her drilling voice bore a hole through the girl's fragile mind. She could not lie, not in court; she didn't think she could live down that kind of shame if she did. Despite this, she was not keen on the hundreds of people before her all walking away from the experience knowing that a Superhero had faults also... large, gaping ones.

"Yes. But that was... a while ago," came the small reply from behind her hair as she carefully lifted a single, gloved hand to brush away the crackling sensation of drying tears. The awful woman fabricated a sardonic 'uh-huh' from the back of her throat, taking a confident stride to the right.

"It was a very serious sickness, but you made it your little... idiosyncrasy, didn't you?," she made another sharp gesticulation across the word 'idiosyncrasy'.  
"You had the whole dark and brooding thing down to an art form and no one really noticed that it wasn't simply teenage behaviour that you would grow out of in time. You felt inadequate? Very low self-worth, yes?." Violet hesitated, prolonging the moment longer than it should have before regretfully nodding out the truth in the woman's nail-sharp words.

"It was there when Super's were banned and you were in hiding, then it followed you, benign, into the times you could openly display Miss Incredible." Her hands crossed firmly over her chest as the powerless girl sniffed loudly behind the irritating lump of hair that masked her face.

"First it was fine, then when all those people in the magazines after a few months dubbed you were the worst Super in town due to your inoffensive gifts, it returned, like a disease. Then you saw another picture of 'The Incredible's' in a magazine where you were conspicuously absent... those kind of events were the things that made it return?" Violet in all her senses, could not comprehend how the woman could know so explicitly the facts of her life. She merely nodded, unable to speak with the emotion stuck tight in her throat, threatening to burst. The woman moved close to her, leaning her frame lightly over the banister of the stand. Violet trembled, afraid of what truths she may have spoken next.

"But you got the last laugh at the people that made that feeling inside you come back, didn't you Miss Incredible? Your defensive powers they rejected could have saved them, if they'd only cared about you and your feelings a little more-"

"No!" Violet's voice, the clarity the strongest and most wilful it had been since the accident, cried forcefully through the muggy silence of the room, shattering it to a thousand pieces. She burst forward, slamming her palms with a resounding crash against the banister, her chair falling uselessly behind her rage. Why wasn't Greg helping her? "No! That's not right at all! That's not why it happened!"

"'That's not _why_ it happened', Miss Incredible?," the woman, seemingly used to outbursts such as Violet's, raised a dark eyebrow.  
"If there was no reason you knew of, you would have said 'That's not how it happened', or 'That's not what happened.' But you said 'that's not _why_ it happened', Miss Incredible, and no matter how many tears and rages you give me, that tells me that somewhere inside you know that there was a reason. And you need to be punished for that." The woman released her tight grip on the banister, traipsing to her desk on the stiletto heels, sliding silently behind her bench.

"No further questions, your honour."

Violet did not know why she had said 'why', she did not know why that particular phrase had been the unfortunate one to pass her lips, and she did not know why she could not conjure a single sentence to retort in her defence. The flush of heat returned to her cheeks as she had embarrassedly begun to cry. Thick tears openly cascaded across the flats of her cheeks and she could not mask the loud, racking sobs that bubbled from her throat. Her bruised eye stung severely and she supposed it was luck that she was not able to take in the audience to her pitiful display. She did not want to be here anymore, she did not want to answer any more questions. They raised too many that she herself was unable to answer. There was not one thought that stayed with her except the overwhelming notion- _She wanted her mother._

_

* * *

_

She had listlessly answered Greg's questioning about the plane crash in the time that passed, and though the ability to express herself honestly and positively warmed her, her heart swelled with relief when she was requested to step down from the stand and resume her position at the desk. The ordeal had drained her dry, she felt withered and fragile and void.

"Prosecutor? Is there a second person to the stand?" The Judge's sharp-edged voice cut through Violet's mental ponderings, and the woman she had come to despise rose, motioning vaguely toward a man seated beside her. He was middle-aged and almost prompted her of Greg himself in his clean-cut business suit, although he clutched an unfamiliar portfolio in his stubby fingers and his large square frames hid the detail of his eyes.

"Yes, your honour, I would like to call Doctor David Gray to the stand." The Judge nodded and the man stood, carrying himself heavily to the stand and still clutching the portfolio beneath the crook of his arm. He was sworn in much the same way as Violet herself was, and the awful woman took a clicking step forward.

"The suggested punishment for Miss Incredible today is to take part in an experimental power-removal procedure, in which the powers she clearly cannot abide the rules by will be completely removed from her conscious system. Dr Gray is head of the American Institute of Bodily Sciences' Neural department and has devised a radical and first-of-its kind procedure in which to accomplish this." She spoke with a wide-eyed solemness to the Judge, although Violet could clearly take in the undertone of sardonics ringing in her voice.  
"Dr Gray, would you first care to elaborate on the procedure; what it involves, and the outcome?"

"Of course," the man's voice was deep and contradicted his miniscule frame. If she was in a more solid state of mind she probably would have even laughed. "The Procedure itself involves the severing of a number of neural pathways through the Corpus Callosum, shutting down many of the ties between the left and right hemisphere of the brain." Violet was a bright girl and, due to her trivial science classes at school, understood his technical ramblings. They frightened her immensely.

"Basically spoken, the part of the brain that halves it into left and right hemispheres, the Corpus Callosum, will be partly cut to disrupt some information being shared between the two hemispheres?" The woman clarified for the partly mystified audience. The Doctor nodded excitedly, and the woman continued. "So why is this done, Doctor?"

"Well, it is a fact that humans use only 10 to 15 percent of their total brain matter in everyday life, leaving over 75 percent of the brain completely unused. No-one is entirely sure why this phenomenon occurs, but many in the scientific field agree that it's because we still have not evolved to our full and intelligent peak as a race. Much of this unused matter, however, is located in the right hemisphere, that which controls more instinctual behaviour; creativity, spatial awareness, abstract thinking, basic human instincts and so on," he took a thoughtful breath, allowing his bout of words to sink into the skulls of those listening.

"After conducting many practical experiments on willing Super participants we have found that overall, Supers use 20 to 35 percent of their total brain matter in everyday life depending on the strength and complexity of their power; that's up to 25 percent more than the average Non-Super human. When conducting MRI brain scans we found that 20 to 22 percent of this newly-used space in Super's is located in the right brain hemisphere. We have also found that Supers' neural connections to this part of the brain are much stronger than in those of the average Non-Supers. When MRI scans were undertaken while the Super was requested to perform their power, this particular part of the brain shows to be used quite extensively. We have concluded that the right hemisphere is likely to be where Super ability takes place, and due to the strengthened neural pathways to the area, Supers are able to harness the ability. We can almost go as far as to say that Supers are more than likely the next link in the human evolutionary chain." The Doctor sat proudly, basking in the awed stares of many eyes. Violet sighed deeply. The woman cleared her throat.

"So severing these neural pathways to the area will disrupt the use of the powers being created there?" The woman spoke slowly, as if taking it in herself. Her arms continued to cross about her chest, heaving against the tightness of her starched business shirt.

"Yes, we have concluded that severing the neural pathway to this area will significantly dull or cease completely the ability to use these special powers. When this part of the right brain has no contact with the left hemisphere, that which controls verbal skills, mental problem solving, logic and reasoning, it has no way of acting on itself." The woman nodded thoughtfully, pressing deeply into her lip with a single manicured nail.

"Is this procedure in any way a threat to the patient's mental wellbeing? Does it pose any threat to how the brain will work or respond after the procedure has taken place?" She waved a hand vaguely as she spoke. Violet knew that, despite requesting an answer from the man, she really did not care.

"This procedure is taking place in a part of the brain that is normally unused in humans, and the only time activity has ever been recorded within it is while Supers are performing their powers, not while the Super is performing everyday tasks. Therefore, it does not affect the patient in any other way than that of disabling their powers." He clutched relentlessly to his portfolio, pulling out a few small coloured boards filled with explicitly detailed mapping of the human brain, marked and countermarked with small, precise footnoting. It caused Violet's head to ache when taking in the snaking of coloured tubes and patches. "I have some diagrams here explaining everything if you would like to take a look, Judge?" The Judge nodded and he handed them up to her waiting fingers.

"Thank you prosecutor. Defence? Do you have any questions?" Greg nodded deeply, abandoning his uncomfortable seat beside the girl. He turned to the girl as he stood, throwing her a wan smile before turning back to the Doctor seated before him.

"Dr Gray, is it?" Greg asked with a vague note of sarcasm; the small man nodded.  
"Okay Dr Gray, tell me how old the Supers you experimented on for these findings were?" The man shifted thoughtfully, his eyes rolling to the top of his head as he silently pondered.

"They ranged from mid-twenties to late seventies, but they all concluded the exact same findings." He spoke finally. Greg nodded, raising an eyebrow then turning to Violet, pointing hard in her direction. It caused her a great deal of discomfort and her hands clenched tightly in her latex gloves.

"So you didn't experiment on ones as young as her? She's seventeen, Doctor, she's not fully developed yet both mentally and physically, plus the fact that she's already mentally fragile from other certain disorders," he shot a withering glare at the woman seated neatly at her desk. She grinned smugly, and shrugged. "Could it be possible, with all your medical expertise, that the brains of adolescent Supers could differ greatly from those of fully-developed ones?" The Doctor sat for a brief, silent and elongated moment. He turned his eyes toward Violet, and she shuddered lightly under his intense stare. It seemed to last a lifetime before he finally spoke.

"Well, taking into account the possible hormonal and chemical disturbances of her adolescent age and depression on the brain, yes, it could likely be possible." He spoke truthfully, yet his eyes did not lose the sheen of pride he bore for his procedure. His eyes finally tore from the girl's miniscule frame and latched to the balding man before him defiantly. Greg nodded profusively, violently, pacing back and forward like a pendulum as he spoke.

"Also tell me, Doctor, has this experiment ever been conducted on a real person before?" Dr Grey faltered, his eyes shifting slightly to the left behind his glasses. His hands tightened over his portfolio.

"No, it hasn't been human tested; we have been unable to find a candidate. But we are confident that the physical findings will match that of the extensive practical and theoretical work we have undertaken on the topic. It's taken a team of twelve people over thirteen years to-"

"How do you know for certain that this kind of procedure won't kill or incapacitate her?" Greg spoke in a forceful, outraged manner. "Not only is she an adolescent, but you haven't even conducted true human practice testing... how can you justify its safety before the courtroom when it's never been done? What if she suffers permanent damage, or something, god forbid, goes horribly wrong that was not part of the statistics? She's only a child, she's too young to be used as a human guinea pig. She's too young to go through that kind of torture..."

"That will be enough, Defence," The Judge murmured softly and motioned for the outraged man to return to his seat. Despite the Judge's hardness, Violet took in what she hoped to be the slight undertone of gentleness, of understanding, that rang solidly through her voice. This allowed a glimmer of hope to shine within her. Faint, but alive.

"I ask the Jury to now retire to their chamber and deliberate, and we will regroup when they produce a finding." The hard-edged tone returned and, knocking her gavel violently against the smooth wooden boards of her desk, she stood to leave. Violet sighed, utterly resigned, as six guards stood to lead her away.

* * *

"The Jury are back in session, Miss Incredible, I have to take you back to the courtroom now," the small voice of a young security agent spoke from behind the locked door of the temporary holding cell. Despite Greg specifically requesting she not speak to a soul for fear of media leakage, Violet had obtained an unlikely supporter in the awful mess. He had been the only one, apart from her parents, to openly admit that he believed her and her version of the events that had occured. This revelation, though only a small bubble in an otherwise bleak sea, warmed her from the coldness building within.

The agent, tall and lanky with a large shock of curly red hair, unhitched the door and shot her a sympathetic stare. "I think you'll be just fine in there, I don't think you need to worry. You're not a felon, you're a Superhero... and a very good one at that," he retorted confidently as he motioned for her to stand. She had been in the holding chamber for hours, and had not switched positions; her aching legs screamed in protest as she stood, shooting the man a nervous glance of wholehearted gratitude, more than she thought she could ever feel, as she departed the room.

* * *

The court was in complete and absolute silence as she was escorted into it, and she instantaneously experienced the adjusted stares of a thousand eyes in her direction. She was guided by several guards, all with their hands on their holstered guns as she seated herself uncomfortably at the desk, beside the distant, yet vaguely reassuring Greg. Her heart beat solemnly in its newly-assumed position at the back of her throat as the tension steadily built within the pit of her stomach. What she wouldn't have given, at that moment, to be allowed the comfort of her family. Though at times she willed herself disowned from them, they alone were the ones that could soothe her in the awkward and frustrating times. And this surely was one of them.

The Judge suddenly appeared from her small door to the left of Violet's peripheral vision, and the bailiff ordered all to stand. She stood, swiping ad the thick curtain of hair that fell over her bruised eye. It stung horribly beneath the cloth of her Supers mask.

"With the exception of the defendant, all may be seated," the Judge spoke softly as she herself took a seat in her large leather chair. Violet heard the small, whispering moans of thinly-constructed pews from behind her as the audience swiftly seated themselves for fear of missing a second if they lingered. Violet turned her vision ever so slightly to the right, just enough to take in the Jury. They had entered the room, and not a single one of them were peering in her direction. They all faced solemnly to the front, fidgeting lightly with their clothing or hair. She supposed that it had been a hard decision for them, though their body language did not bring her any sense of comfort. One lone woman at the front of the pack was standing, a small slip of paper clutched tightly in her sweated hands.

"Have the Jury reached a verdict on all charges?" the Judge recited as Violet supposed she had accomplished a thousand times before. The woman, having been distractedly staring at the opposite wall suddenly came-to, her gaze shifting joltingly to the Judge.

"We have your honour," she murmured. Her voice was high, resounding with apprehension. Violet's heart skipped a beat within her throat and her hands, to her dismay, had begun to shake from their place firmly clasped to her front.

"On the first, second, third and fourth count of the indictment, breaking in the first degree rules 1, 2, 5 and 6 of the Super's Code of Conduct, how do you find the defendant?" Violet's throat filled with sentiment as the woman looked down to her paper, leaning slightly into the microphone as she licked her lips. She heard Greg above her take a sharp breath deep into his lungs. She did not, however, as her breath was suspended with fright in her chest. The crowd did not utter a word, and not even the sound of breathing seemed to disturb the perfect silence claustrophobically hanging about the room like unseen fog.

"We find the defendant," the woman spoke, "guilty in all charges." It took the news a nanosecond to sink into the skulls of all that were there to witness it's raw and terrifying glory, and for a brief and shining second the utter quiet remained. The moment, however, passed and a small lone clapping could be heard cutting through the silence. Before long the clapping had strengthened as one person after the other slowly joined in the taunting ruckus.

Violet closed her eyes tightly in retaliation to the fresh rush of tears she could feel flowing to her eyelids, unwilling to allow the satisfaction of seeing her so distraught, not after the verdict,_ she had to be strong_. Greg put an arm to her shoulder lightly, almost compassionately, as she heard him take a breath. She thought he may have uttered something, although nothing protruded from his mouth. She held her head high, as Miss Incredible was expected to do, and resisted the tantalising urge to hide herself away, to hide her utter grief.

"Judgment has been made. The Defendant, Miss Incredible, is sentenced to take part in the experimental power-removal procedure as soon as possible at the American Institute of Bodily Sciences, under the supervision of Doctor David Gray and his colleagues." The Judge did not call for the pandemonium to be silenced and merely spoke through it, throwing her gavel against the wood one last time.

Violet did not hear this statement, however, as she was being escorted away; her emotions, her senses and her willingness to live shut off in one sturdy motion as they removed her from the courtroom, from the inane whistling, the inane clapping, all at her fragile expense. They led her away from her one last grasping chance at justice, and led her onward to the inevitable unfairness of life.

* * *

**A/N**- Geez, this one's even bigger than the first one. I think I have a problem with making my chapters way too long. Sorry, again, for the inconsistencies in it, I'm not a lawyer and I've never been to a court hearing. I would, however, like to thank my boring psychology teacher for making me so bored out of my brain in classes it caused me to think up my interpretation how a Super obtains powers. Next chapter may be up sooner than I thought, unlike my other stories, I actually have a lot of direction for this one. Please r&r, it's nice.


	3. Where only failure knows your name

**IMPORTANT A/N (9/5/08)- Yet another and the last chapter to be updated. After this reupholstering I'll be starting on the newest chapter of this scary little story of mine. Please R/R if you read this. Believe me, even just a few words of support really fire me up for the production of new chapters. So take five minutes and do it! I command you.** –**xShocked**

* * *

**EVISCERATE**

**Chapter 3** – Where only failure knows your name.

* * *

_The plane was shaking brutally beneath Violet's trembling palms, creating noises she dare not allow to permeate her conscious thoughts. She could feel the clot of her own blood slide sluggishly over the bone of her forehead; however she could not bare to remove her hands from their tight grip over the hard plastic seat handles and she supposed that the blood would have to stay. They were in a deep dive, she could feel that; her stomach remained suspended, weightless and sickening, in her throat._

"_Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with you," The girl beside her, who had once been manically giggling with terrified fury, had now retired to her murmuring prayers, clinging tightly the gold crucifix circling her neck and muttering, eyes sealed tight shut from the world.  
"Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus…"_

"_Stop it," Violet pleaded, unable to prevent a fat rivulet of a tear from cascading across her cheekbone. She no longer desired to take in the constant string of pleading prayers coursing delicately from the girl's mouth. _

"_Stop it now."_

_However the girl did not heed her; Violet doubted if she had even heard the plea over the muted tone of her prayers. Several seconds passed and the girl finally raised her head, pleading eyes shining with the mist of desperation caught at her own and she found a trembling hand circling hers, squeezing hard._

"_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death."_

_The sentence had barely trickled from the girls tongue before the plane took a deep lurch to the left, sending a rippled wake of terrified screams through the cabin, leaving long behind any insistence Violet had of silencing the girl beside her. She bowed her head, defeated, as her heart screamed, petrified, in her throat. As she threw forward her head in emotion, blood from her head wound seeped drop by drop into the crevice at the corner of her eye. It stung horrendously, and brought a warm wetness of tears to her cheeks. But what was this colour that invaded her vision, seeping into her clothes, the cabin, as the blood invaded the socket of her eye? Red? No, orange. Orange everywhere…_

_Orange… Orange Suit?_

"_Oh my…" she whimpered, unlatching her hand from the seat and clawing at the buttons of her cardigan. The warm stretch of Lycra underneath the wool met her trembling fingers. She touched it feebly as fat, bloody tears splashed across the orange. They blended well and she could slowly take in the wetness against the bate skin of her heaving chest. And it was then that her comprehension dawned. She was a Super. What was she doing?_

"Oh God…"

_The girl beside her clutched to her crucifix, sobbing pitifully, as Violet clawed furiously at the blood in her eyes and unbuckled her seatbelt._

* * *

"Miss Incredible." A harsh voice permeated through the haze of Violet's unconsciousness. Her head hurt profusely and seemed to weigh more than it ever had before. It drew at her scalp, pinning her vulnerable body further into the cool, rigid material supporting the slight weight of her frame. Swimming sluggishly through the soupy texture of her own thoughts, she summoned every ounce of her energy to pry open a single eye. The light was blinding, incredulously bright and biting in the sensitivity of her retinas. She let out a retaliatory groan, but it was hindered by the thick tubing snaking down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. It pumped and pulsated and the sensation was unbearable. She gagged.

"Miss Incredible, please don't fight the machine, it'll only make it worse." Fighting the severe urge to cough out the foreign object she unfastened a second eye; the bruise had healed but the skin was still tender and the action brought a blur of pained tears to her vision.

Brown? No, Gray. Doctor Gray.

Where was she again? Her thoughts were not constructing themselves in a logical manner, instead becoming increasingly impaired and motionless inside her skull.  
"You're out of operating, Miss Incredible. Everything went just fine. But you'll feel a lot better after the sedatives wear off a little."

Sedatives? What did they mean? Why could she not remember what she was doing in this horrid place?

"Your parents will come to see you in a few hours. Please, just rest. We'll report your progress when you feel a little more alert. We're giving you something to help you sleep." The voice faded into the white noise and a chorus of hushed whispering was all that remained. As the world faded to imminent darkness, a single thought stuck tight in her mind. It curled about her consciousness and as she found her own awareness slipping slowly away it repeated, furious, in her hollowed brain.

"Pray for us sinners now and at the hours of our death… Pray for us now… and at… the hours… of… our…. Death…."

* * *

Helen Parr took hold of her husband's arm, the faint trace of a sigh emitting tentatively from between her parted lips. The mirrored glass before her glinted harshly in the soft neon light of the American Institute of Bodily Sciences.

'Sciences….' She scoffed to herself. Butchery seemed the much more appropriate word.

"She looks… Funny," Bob petted her hand gently in the crook of his arm, as though not to alarm her with his uncertain comment. She nodded distractedly. Violet did look funny; there was certainly no other word to describe it. She was disorientated after the surgery, ambivalent and seemingly schizoid. She often repeated motions senselessly, without being able to describe why. Once Helen had caught her speaking with someone who was not there; when she had questioned her daughter, Violet had simply replied 'I thought it was you, Mom. I thought you were already here' before beginning to cry. It broke Helen's heart to see her only daughter- her beautiful and intelligent daughter- behaving so strangely. She squeezed Bob's arm, turning her face up to his stony expression.

"Why can't we be in there with her, Bob? She shouldn't have to do this alone." Her eyes shimmered with the faint gloss of sentiment behind the black of her Supers mask. He sighed heavily, turning his gaze back to the mirrored glass several feet before him. The room beyond it was white and hermetic, filled with the maddening soft light of a padded cell. His daughter was seated in there, in the Supers uniform she was so used to donning, swaying uncertainly in that chair that mammothed her own slender frame. That accursed, smug doctor, Gray, was seated opposite her. He was scribbling on a large clipboard, tapping one impatient foot on the concrete below them.

"You heard what they said. She's being… she's being processed," He murmured, scratching distractedly at his chin. His wife's gloved hands tightened over his hulking bicep.

"What a horrible word…" She whispered, a visible coldness running over the skin of her back. She affixed her gaze avidly on the ugly wound that ran the rear of her daughter's head. They had shaved a large chunk of her beautiful hair and it was pinned back, allowing a full, unabashed view of the horrible surgical wound. The identical black stitches, as those that seemed so long ago from the accident, were evident over the reddened laceration. She choked back a small sob. Her baby…

* * *

"Miss Incredible. Please focus," Gray tapped at her knee impatiently and she sluggishly turned her gaze to him. Her headache was still ever persistent; a throbbing pain that seemed to emanate from every inch of her skin. It was maddening; an itch that could not be scratched. She nodded; her throat still raw from the feed-tube that had once made her slender throat its home.  
"Now, I want you to think hard, to imagine yourself a forcefield-"

"I never… I never imagined myself a forcefield," she sighed, pulling a weary hand upward to her forehead. Her fingers brushed lightly over the scar at her hairline, and retracted hastily.  
"It always just happened."

"Just happened," He retorted, scratching distractedly at his arm and shaking his head. She knew that the tiny little man was mocking her, albeit in his own bizarre way. It made her feel stupid.  
"Well, just make it happen now."

She sighed unhappily, lowering her gaze to the floor. The pin that held back her hair came loose and its thick curtain slid across her face, obstructing her features from the horrible man. She did not attempt to remove it and her gloved hands clutched adamantly to her thighs. She rocked horribly, but did not know why she felt she must.

"Why should I? You know that it won't work."

"Regardless, Please attempt it," he spoke without remorse, lifting a shiny blue pen to his clipboard and expecting her to conjure miracles. She sighed a second time. Tears had begun to shine her vision over; although the harsh reality of her situation had not yet fully registered, it was beginning to. She reluctantly lifted her hands, extending them at arm's length and outstretching her fingers, as if she expected the doctor to throw her a ball.

'Forcefield, please,' her mind begged her body, 'Forcefield... Let me show them...' She scrunched her eyes tight shut, compelling every fibre of herself into the undertaking. She could feel it, and her eyes snapped open. An opaque lilac light simmered from the palms of her hands, snaking over the air before it. For an enlightening, breathless moment, Violet believed it would engulf her completely, as she had always proficiently accomplished. But it snapped like an elastic band, circling unsteadily in the air before vanishing entirely.

"No," she murmured, choking back a sob that rose from the pits of her throat. "It's not fair." She attempted it again and yet again, hurling her hands forward and willing the forcefield from her fingertips so hard she feared her head would never forgive her for the vigour. Yet repeatedly the weak light faltered, and disappeared. Throwing her arms uselessly to her sides, she let out a howling sob. She wasn't a Super anymore. She wasn't Miss Incredible. She wasn't incredible in any way. She was Violet Parr. Violet. No more, no less. An additional wrenching sob racked her wiry form and she covered her eyes in shame. Why her? Why was this happening to her?

* * *

"…Super Miss Incredible was sentenced three weeks ago to undergo this experimental procedure, in which her powers will be significantly reduced or prevented completely," The pretty news reporter spoke confidently into her microphone, her heels clicking as she shifted her weight on the steps of the American Institute of Bodily Sciences. She eyed the seven bodyguards staring stonily from the front entrance. She supposed that there would be no way to sneak inside for the elusive interview she desired. She would have to sleep with the producer for that promotion she so desired now, which was too bad because she was hoping she would be able to gain it legitimately. No matter.  
"Miss Incredible was sentenced after her disregard of the Supers Code of Conduct, resulting in the death of over one hundred people in a plane crash in the sea off the coast of California. Again, for all those that may have tuned in, we are reporting live from the AIBS on Miss Incredible's current condition-"

"It's Frozone!"

Her head snapped to the side as she took in her rival from Channel 31 call it out excitedly at her right. Indeed, a glittering trail of ice had formed along the rooftops, a figure balancing above them with stealth and ease. An eager whisper circulated through the mass of news crews and the woman immediately and without mercy jostled her way to the front of the amassing crowd, barking orders sharply at her cameraman. She hadn't gotten the reputation of being the most hard-assed journalist in Metroville for nothing. Frozone had not been spotted since the day of Miss Incredible's trial; his interview would be priceless. Maybe she could get her promotion legitimately after all.

The impressive ice sculpture stooped majestically, eclipsing the sun, and to her delight connected with the pavement just before her heeled feet.

"Frozone!" She cried as he stepped from the ice, his brow furrowed and stony. She heaved her microphone jerkily to his lips as hundreds of others equally accomplished.  
"Frozone! What are your thoughts on the punishment Miss Incredible has received for her crimes?"

He pushed past her indifferently, skimming through the crowd without pause or regard for a single microphone. She tutted impatiently, turning back to her cameraman and gesticulating for him to follow with a sharp flick of her hand. She pushed on in his wake, all the while yapping the exact question with the brash regard of someone twice her height and frame.

"Frozone! What are your thoughts on the-"

He stopped abruptly in his tracks and the reporters that had followed him grinned in glee. After a second of silence, he turned. His face remained bitter, his eyes vehement. She was the first of her peers to place her microphone upward to his immense height; others following suit in barely a moment following.

"I think…" he began icily; she turned to ensure her cameraman was filming- he was. "..that there will be severe repercussions for this heinous act committed by the city of Metroville. Consider yourselves Super-less. You have done something to one of our own that is completely and utterly unforgiveable. And we will not be protecting you anymore." There was a second of stunned, awkward silence and he turned, taking another step before stopping, as if changing his mind, and turning once more.

"And mark my words, this will never… not ever be forgotten…"

* * *

**A/N**- Okay, short, choppy chapter. This is because it's coming to the real part of the story, and I didn't want to drag it on for too long before getting to the real parts. However, it does include some important bits! I promise I will be continuing this, even after a year and a half. Oh, and some of you have complained at Greg's complete lack of usefulness. Don't worry, this will make sense soon.

Please R/R! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!


	4. Scatter the Ashes

**A/N-** Wow, it's been a really long time since I've updated this one. In all honesty I probably never would have, but I was amused by the constant interest I was and am still receiving in this story, even through the time lapse between my last post and now. So I though hey, why not, I'll update. Believe it or not, it only took me two nights to whip this up, even after what I can only see as a 2 year elapsed time period since my last post. Please review, I really enjoy reading them and taking them into account, if you didn't review this story would NOT have come this far. Thank you so much to my faithful readers, who have added me to your favourites, and continued to review despite this story seeming well and truly dead. I hope I don't disappoint you! –xShocked.

* * *

**Chapter 4** – Scatter the Ashes

* * *

"- 16 people were killed in the Metroville Express derailment today, while over 54 innocent commuters and bystanders were injured when the monorail left the track and crashed at a speed of over 80 miles per hour. No Supers were to be found at the scene, despite numerous distress calls made by Metroville Express drivers and officials. Many still speculate that the protest strike announced by Super Frozone over the infamous Miss Incredible trial, is-" Helen Parr, her brows furrowed with disgust, flicked the television news report off with a forceful pressing of her thumb, flinging the remote aside. Standing with an air of indignation and her mouth agape, she turned and furiously pummeled at the askew throw-pillows in a mock attempt at straightening them.

Dash, laying belly-down on the floor mere inches from the now blank screen, tutted with an unenthused exasperation. Rolling to his back to face his mother, a poison glare affixed itself to his boyish features.

"Hey!" he cried, pouting outlandishly as his mother turned to face him. "First Violet makes it so we can't use our powers anymore, now we can't even watch the television 'cos of her?!"

A stony look of disdain filled his mothers' features as she glared back at him, her mouth pulled taut to a thin white line and her arms folded furiously across her chest.

"It's a protest, Dash. It's not Violet's fault. The world is treating Supers unfairly and we need to let them know that we're not going to stand for it." She replied indignantly, eyeing the TV guide that rested beside Dash's blonde head. The pages were folded inward and a clear, glossy photograph of her daughter grinned back. It seemed that her image was something infamous in media of all shape and form these days. She was everywhere.

"Yeah but we used our powers all the time before Violet became a _normal_. Now we can't even help people when they're really in trouble..." His voice murmured disdainfully. His mother, upon hearing his insensitive remark, shot the boy a toxic glance, one she had used extensively to the boy's unimpressed remarks for the days since Violet's homecoming from her operation. Deciding not to further instigate his mother as she fumed, Dash merely sighed in the dramatics only a child could muster before lifting himself heavily from the floor and proceeding to skulk away.

Helen watched as her aggravated son removed himself from the room, shooting her one last poison glare as he slid heavily around the doorframe before disappearing into the hall. Her ears pricked to the slam of his bedroom door mere seconds later. Surveying that she was finally alone in the room she sighed heavily, her deeply furrowed brow softening to nothing more than a visible morose. She had tried so hard to be angry; angry at the world, angry at the Supers, angry at the scientists, angry at herself. But after long, hard bouts of hatred and disbelief, she simply could not feel it anymore. She could feel nothing but hopelessness in the knowledge that her wish of this horrible situation never happening would by no means be granted. Her daughter had been an experiment. She had been cut open and poked and prodded and ultimately stripped of her dignity and pride. She would never be the same girl she was. She would never be the same beautiful daughter that she had raised. Sure, she had encountered her problems before, her self esteem poorly equipped and her confidence ill-adapted. But this was different. Now, Violet was gutted completely. And the world was seemingly happy about that.

Helen's maternal ears honed to the faint fussy cries of Jack-Jack as he awoke from his late afternoon nap, crying out for his mother in short, shrill bursts through a thin veil of sleep. She supposed she had better collect him from his room before he destroyed the third crib they had purchased in a manner of weeks. She sighed despondently a second time, unfurling her snugly folded arms before absently reaching for the dishevelled TV guide her son had left behind. It was slightly beyond her reach and instinctually she found her arm extend naturally toward it, thinning like stretched gum as it pulled away from her body.

'_Wait a second!_' her mind piped indignantly within the cavities of her head. '_Violet will never be able to use her powers again, and you're using yours so frivolously? To pick up a magazine that's three feet away! You're perfectly capable of picking it up without them!_' The words resounded harshly in Helen's ear and, biting her lip hard, her arm snapped reluctantly like an elastic band, returning to its natural curve. She bent over, groaning, and scooped up the magazine manually, placing it onto the coffee table with care. Perhaps she would do that more often now. If only to understand in some miniscule way how Violet must have felt every day without the one thing that rendered her completely unique. To lose something she had become so accustomed to. Helen imagined it would be akin to losing the hand you wrote with; simply irreplaceable.

Before she had the chance to walk even a few steps to collect the now squealing Jack-Jack from his bedroom, however, she heeded the loud obnoxious chime of their doorbell, the heady tone resounding profoundly through the house. Wondering who could possibly be making a house call so late in the day she altered her path toward the front hall, taking one last lingering gaze at the blank screen of the accursed television before disappearing from the room, her curiosity ablaze.

* * *

Violet relished at the feeling of the cool floorboards beneath her bare feet. They were steady, hard, and did not attempt to instil warmth within her. She was tired of everyone attempting without victory to achieve that. They were something very real for her to cling to when it seemed the rest of her life had spiralled into nothing more than a bizarre dream. So she sunk her feet into them, anchoring herself securely as she sat deftly at the lip of her bed.

Wordlessly, she raised her left hand several inches from her face. She drunk in the sight of her slender fingers shaking delicately as she spread them as far apart as her ailing strength would allow her. This would be her last attempt, she assured herself. Her eyes fluttered closed. Searching deep within every cavity and crevice of her mind that she could map, Violet summoned every conceivable strength within her that she could harness.

"Please..." she whispered, her throat dry from neglect. This was her last opportunity; she didn't think that her body could withstand another disappointment. Swallowing heavily in trepidation, she gently herded the last remnants of strength she'd located within her mind and, without pause, forced them into her physical form, allowing them to fill her completely; curve along her waist and miniscule hips, snake down to her bare feet, fill her up to her neck in the strength. Her brow furrowed from the fortitude it required of her exhausted frame, her head hurt immensely, enough to cause a sharp intake of breath to her lungs. She could remember a time where she only needed to siphon a minimal amount of her strength to fill her body with this much power. It was a second nature, something she could achieve without scarce thought. But now she could feel it dissipating sparsely; it was not nearly enough to fill her with the power required for the task.

She blinked furiously, adjusting her sensitive pupils to the ailing light. For a second she could have imagined that she was finally awakening from a horrible dream, that everything that had happened was nothing more than the project of her morbid, masochistic imagination. However, the hand that she had placed before her eyes served as a stark reminder that the world was still very real, much to her severe discontent. Sure enough, the hand before her was all visible, her pallid skin glowing softly in a shaft of the late afternoon sun. There was the exception of her middle finger, however, which had not disappeared completely, but shimmered like a fading mirage where its solid form should have been. Once she had been able to disappear completely without a second thought; now every part of her body was throbbing in pain and exhaustion at the task of simply un-solidifying her middle finger? Utterly defeated, she lowered her hand, allowing the other to search beneath the thickness of her hair, finally resting upon a large and ugly stitched wound at the base of her head. The remainder of her hair fell like a curtain at either side of her slender face, shielding the now uncontrollable tears from the stillness of her quiet bedroom.

The sanctity of her own misery was short lived, however, as she took in a meek knocking at her door. Sighing deeply and swiping the reluctant tears loose from the corners of her eyes, she did not bother to reply to the half hearted notion; she knew that it could be no one but her mother on the other side, and she knew that she would enter regardless of a reply or not. Sure enough, the door opened. Just a crack at first, and then a soft "Violet, honey, can I come in?" followed. Again, Violet did not reply, fearing that if she opened her tightly sealed lips a wave of emotion would be unwittingly released. She did not want that, not today. The door opened a little more, ajar just wide enough for the frame of her mother's face to become clearly visible between the solid oak.

"Honey, the postman brought something for you." Helen murmured maternally, carefully swinging the door open enough to allow what she was holding- a small, brown and messily taped box- to come into view. Violet sniffed, swiping at the remainder of her tears as she eyed the box wearily. Something for her? She'd never received any real mail, with the slight exception of packages from her grandmother and the statements of her bank account. Never anything of substantial importance.

"Who is it from?" she managed to squeeze from her dusty throat, adjusting herself on the lip of the bed and holding out her hand in anticipation for the package. Helen noted the slight waver in her daughter's movements. Her motor skills had not quite been the same after the operation, and Helen had often caught her shaking or simply losing her balance without cause or prompt. It pained her to see her daughter suffer in such a cruel way. She obliged however, dispensing the box in her daughter's wavering arms and shifting her weight heavily to one foot.

"I don't know, it doesn't have a return address," Helen replied, watching curiously as Violet turned the package over cautiously in her hands, "It just says it's from a friend."

Violet, her curiosity piqued, turned the box a second time in her slightly trembling hands. Sure enough, in the space where a return address should have been written, someone had simply written 'A Friend' in a neat, signature scrawl that she did not readily recognise. Despite the writing being so orderly, however, the box was in terrible condition. It was scuffed and scrunched, with tape encircling the entire dimensions, at times ruffled and ripped where it should have sat flat and methodical.

"Can I open it alone, mom?" she finally managed to mumble after studying the intriguing package for several minutes, pushing a strand of hair from her cheek as she turned to her mother. Helen studied her daughter's face closely. Her eyes where reddened and tender, it was clear that she had been crying. A severe guilt welled heavily in the pit of her stomach. Her daughter had been crying alone in her room while she had been wallowing in her own self pity. She inwardly sighed. The least she could do was allow Violet the privacy she requested, for now at least.

"Okay honey, but you really need to come out of your room soon. Your father will be home in a little while and you know how he feels about you being holed up in your room..." Violet nodded, managing to muster a watery and ultimately forced smile to her mother, something she had rarely been able to achieve even in deception in recent days. Helen managed her own weak smile in return, bending to kiss her daughter tenderly on the forehead before stepping from the room, hesitating only momentarily before closing the door gently behind her.

Violet listened intently for the sound of footsteps from the hall. There were a few seconds of silence, as if her mother had stopped to gather her thoughts just beyond the door, before she indeed heard the light padding of her feet on the floorboards of the hall. Listening intently as they shuffled further and further from her, she looked down once more to the package sitting neatly on her thighs. Gently pushing a long lock of her dark hair behind her ear, she cautiously lifted the box, holding it with tepid pressure in each hand. The sticky smoothness of masking tape meshed quite pleasantly with the woody grain of the cardboard beneath her fingers. She had come to appreciate feeling and touch significantly more since the operation, and at times she found herself transfixed by textures and the way they felt beneath her waiting fingers. She supposed it was quite odd, but she could not help it. Closing her eyes, she savoured the moment for several seconds and finding that for the first moment in a long time, the small upturn at the corners of her lips formed a genuine smile. Someone was thinking of her, enough to send her something anyway. That was enough for her.

Ultimately deciding to allow her curiosity some consolation, she turned the box in her grip, finally locating a small tab that would allow her access to the contents. She pulled at it gently, taking in the ripping of the cardboard as it parted in all corners, the top of the box becoming akin to a lid. Her heart leapt as her hand curled tightly over the top of the box, her fingers sliding instinctually to the crevice of the newly created lid. She hoped dearly that nothing would jump out; she didn't believe her heart could take anymore exertion or strain.

Pulling the lid from the box (and giving silent thanks that nothing did pop out unexpectedly) she peered inside. A small flame red envelope greeted her gaze from within the otherwise seemingly empty box. She reached for it, utterly perplexed that such a relatively large vessel would hold such a small item to be delivered. As she brought it closer to her line of vision, she saw that it displayed her full name, Violet Parr, written in that same immaculate scribe, printed neatly on the front. Intrigued by the envelope, she allowed the box to tip from her lap and it fell with a heavy thud to the floor.

"This just keeps getting weirder and weirder.." Violet murmured gently to herself, turning the envelope slowly in her grip. It was not sealed, and the flap jutted widely open, as if tantalisingly enticing her to check what was inside.

"Violet! Dash! Out here now, please. Your father wants to entice us with another scintillating account of his day," Her mother's slightly bemused sarcasm carried heavily from the top of the hall. Violet lifted her head momentarily to the sound, also taking in the creak of her brother's bedroom door and the steady drone of his complaining as he passed her bedroom on his shuffling way to the lounge several moments later. She briefly considered the option of returning to the letter after the miserable pushing around of food that her parents called her dinner. However the option did not sit well in her mind and she hastily turned her head back to the envelope, pulling the flap wide open as she drove her hand inside.

She had expected to find a card in her waiting grip; however as her hand pulled the contents from within, all that she was left with was a dirty scrap of paper. She expected that it has been ripped directly from a notepad with little or no regard for presentation, as it was jutted and wrinkled defiantly. She lifted an eyebrow, utterly perplexed, as she took in the same faultless handwriting that now seemed so familiar, and yet so very alien in duality. She sighed, allowing herself to drink in the simple sentences written on the soiled paper.

_I know what you did, Violet. I know more than what you do. And you deserve to pay. You and every other lying, selfish Super I can get my hands on. And you all will. No one will ever find me, not even after it's too late for you, Miss Incredible._

The dirty scrap of paper fell quickly to the floor as Violet, horrified and disbelieving, let out a choked, terrified cry.

* * *

A/N – Well, it's definitely heading in the direction I want. Please R/R, I really do love to hear them! I promise there won't be a 2 year gap between this chapter and the next. But please review and keep in inspired.


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